


Covenant

by localswampcrow



Series: What Agreements? [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, Coming Out, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fix-It, Fluff, Happy, Jack Kline is God, Light Dysphoria, M/M, Mental Illness, Music, PDA, Poetry, Queer Castiel (Supernatural), Queer Dean Winchester, Recreational Drug Use, Unitarian Universalism, church, good wholesome church, human!Cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:53:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28268688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localswampcrow/pseuds/localswampcrow
Summary: Cas takes Dean to a service at the local UU
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: What Agreements? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118498
Kudos: 6





	1. Covenant- Poem

**Author's Note:**

> What started as a loose poem and some ideas is now turning into my favorite and only destiel fic (so far?). This story brings me immense joy, it seems to get better and better the more of it I can get out of me. “living agreements” is a collection of one shots also from this save AU - one where Cas is resurrected by Jack and Dean from the empty, as a human, and they get to make a real life together. In this world, they choose love and life and decide to go to UU church together. This story is very much inspired by my own experiences with Unitarian Universalism and other facets of my identity. 
> 
> If any of this story makes you happy or makes you feel any emotion really, I’d love to hear about it. 
> 
> You can find me on Twitter @localswampcrow

" _To the end that all souls shall grow into harmony with the divine"_

He reads the chalky program over and over again  
Breaths coming a little more sporadically than he'd hoped

  
He squeezes the hand that rests on his knee and looks across into bright, soft, admiring, blue eyes  
He's sat in churches, bloody and praying, a thousand times before

  
But he's never sat in a pew side by side with the man he loves just because _it's a nice community, Dean, and I've always wanted you to experience a UU service._

  
This is something he never imagined.

  
So he reads the program again  
And thinks that as long as Cas is with him, his soul is already on its way to growing into harmony with the divine.


	2. The First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean go to a Unitarian Universalist Church together. It had taken some convincing to get Dean out the door, but in the end he sees value in it. Normalcy, healing, being with Cas. That’s what counts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just can’t stop thinking about this story. They get to finally have each other, and start digging in on healing. I love the idea of them going to a non-God-centered church, because it’s a place for them to think their own thoughts while being right there together and also surrounded by loving community. Maybe Dean will volunteer to cook meals with some of the church staff? Maybe Cas will help with the gardens? Maybe they will both get to help out with the children’s chapel? I want them to be happy so bad. In the little world in my head, they are. This is just the beginning of an idea, really. I have quite a hard time with dialogue, so, I feel kinda cursed writing this haha. More to come.....

_"To the end that all souls shall grow into harmony with the divine"_

He reads the chalky program over and over again  
Breaths coming a little more sporadically than he'd hoped  
He squeezes the hand that rests on his knee and looks across into bright, soft, admiring, blue eyes  
He's sat in churches, bloody and praying, a thousand times before  
But he's never sat in a pew side by side with the man he loves just because _it's a nice community, Dean, and I've always wanted you to experience a UU service._  
This is something he never imagined.  
So he reads the program again  
And thinks that as long as Cas is with him, as long as he keeps asking Cas to _stay_ , then his soul is already well on its way to growing into harmony with the divine.

-

This is the first service they’ve ever been to. Nothing dramatic, but the casual air and welcoming community poked at something scarred and hyperacute inside of Dean. He rereads the printed Order of Service that someone handed him at the sanctuary doors. He had nodded and muttered “thank you”, as he and Cas walked deeper into the space to find a seat near the back. Cas knew he was a bit hesitant, but also knew that this was one of the least forced things they had done together recently. Going to the dentist last week? Not fun, for either of them.

There were song lyrics and poetic passages for the Reverend and the guest speakers, and near the very bottom of the paper it said “Covenant”, and it read:

“Love is the doctrine of this church,

The quest of truth is its sacrament,

And service is its prayer.

To dwell together in peace,

To seek knowledge in freedom,

To serve human need,

To the end that all souls shall grow into harmony with the Divine-

Thus do we covenant.”

After reading it again a couple more times, the sounds of people settling into the pews, taking off coats, chatting with neighbors, he hands the OOS over to Cas with a soft, and slightly nervous expression. Cas smiles at him, taking the paper.

  
“You know, Dean, we don’t stick out here as much as you think we do.” and pointedly looks around the sanctuary, Dean’s own gaze following, before circling back to look down at the two of them.

They are surrounded by crunchy rural folks. Luckily, _not_ the Confederate flag types, thank God. Moms and Dads in their casual-Sunday-Best dresses and Good Flannels, old folks in cable knit sweaters. It’s blue jeans and khakis, not suit pants and trench coats. Cas had given up the old Jimmy look along with his Grace a few months back, and Dean couldn’t be more thrilled with the way Cas looks in his favorite shirts. Of course, as the holiday season inches closer, the fancy hats and embroidery, glittering sweaters and blouses, are a common sighting. It’s still not as abrasive as Dean thinks it probably is at other churches this time of year.

Dean has been silent for at least a minute, just taking in the surroundings of the sanctuary and its occupants. Cas is right next to him in the pew, looking into his face, jjst calmly noticing the way Dean's fighting his instincts to make an escape plan. He swallows and slides his hand, palm up, onto his own thigh. It’s an invitation for Cas to reach his calloused and warm hand out to ground Dean. He smiles and does so immediately.

“Thank you for trying this… did I mention there will be coffee afterwards?” Cas says, squeezing Dean’s hand.

With a relieved smirk, Dean replies,  
“You didn’t mention the coffee, actually. But, of course… you know I’d try anything for you, Cas. If this is what makes you happy, then screw it.” He smiles widely.

Cas’ face a mirror. There is an abundance of further statements Dean wishes he had the stomach to say right now. So much bubbles under the surface; gratitude for Cas being here, for being human, disbelief and joy and grief. Grief for time missed with Cas, for watching him die so many fucking times, and also for Jack being gone. He isn’t ready yet to go into the self-loathing he is harboring, either, just in general. A huge part in this whole “try church” thing has to do with Jack. Their son… their son became God? _What sort of fuckery is that?_ He finds himself thinking constantly. He also knows that he needs this.

He needs people, good accepting, loving people, for his own emotional health. He wouldn’t word it as such, but he and Cas both know that they are seriously messed up. “Trauma survivors”, as he had read in a self-diagnosis quiz online one night.

They agreed that this place, and what they learn here, would be a first step on the road to recovering from never having a healthy consistent community in their lives.

“I love you” Dean whispers as the rustle of bodies and conversation quiets and a piano comes to life with the service prelude.

His smile is full, yet gentle, brimming hope and adoration. Without fail, Cas returns the expression, with added gratitude crinkling at the crows feet of his eyes.

He sighs softly,  
“I love you, Dean” and lifts the back of Dean’s hand to his mouth, kissing it before bringing it back down to now rest on his own thigh. He turns his head towards the front of the sanctuary to listen to the duration of the piano’s charming, lighthearted tinkle. This is just the beginning.


	3. The Light of Love Here Shines Upon Each Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have been going to the same church for about a month now. It's a highlight of every week. They're ready to start making friends here, specifically other queer friends. How could they not??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found the song through an online order of service from July, from the UU church I go to. 
> 
> I am so thrilled to be making this a reality outside of my own head. Who even writes happy stories anymore?! Me apparently!!!! They are never going to fight and there is never going to be explicit homophobia in this story. Just them. Goin to church and being cute, and sometimes navigating mild triggers like internalized crap but probably not much more than that ever.

_"Love is the doctrine of this church"_

  
  


It's Sunday again and Dean rolls over, heavy from dreams finding a still-sleeping Cas tangled in blankets. He closes his eyes again and snuggles in closer, wrapping his arm around where he thinks Cas’s waist must be. He firmly brings his forehead to rest at the base of where the dark curl meets Cas' neck. This is Dean's attempt at gently waking his angel (though he is not an angel anymore). Dean breathes down the back of his shirt and squeezes his arms around Cas' muscled middle. Cas grunts, groggy from sleep.

"Mornin sunshine…" Dean nuzzles his nose at the soft hairs on the top of Cas's shoulders, 

  
  


"coffee and then church?" he mumbles loud enough for Cas to hear. 

Cas takes a deep breath and turns onto his back so he can take in Dean's sleepy face. He offers a sweet _good morning beautiful_ kiss. They both smile into it. 

Cas nods, hands running up and down the defined arms that have him gated in the chaos of the blankets. 

"Yes," says Cas, "definitely coffee, and then church." 

-

Cas is still surprised, if only mildly, that Dean really does enjoy the Unitarian Church services. It was something they had bickered about for about a month. Why in the hell would Dean or Cas willingly _go_ to church. They've both met the old God, and he was a douchebag. The old God was literally Cas's father and number one original manipulator. That's a big bag to unpack, but it's been so long since Cas drank that liquor store that he has had to time to sort out what is hate for his father, and what is faith in humanity.

The first time the idea of attending the Unitarian Church was brought up, flashbacks to Dean's time in churches during his life as a hunter came rushing in. 

He has been broken, before. His soul and faith crumpled, cold and alone, kneeling in churches all across the Midwest. Praying to a God that wouldn't act, praying to Cas, while Cas was being tortured and beaten into the shape of a soldier. 

He remembers that time in 2015 when he sat in the confessional, raw and nervous, exposed… all the things he was so desperate to say and experience. It's overwhelming, so _of course_ the first time Cas brings it up he makes an excuse. Claims he "isn't going anywhere near God-worshippers" no matter that Jack is God now. 

"It's not about 'God', Dean. It's about love, and truth. And family." Cas had stated with an air of definitive certainty. 

Sooner than later, Dean had come to accept that Cas is right. And every Sunday that they make the trek to the little white sanctuary, he is proved that it _is_ about a whole lot more than "God". 

-

They've extracted themselves from the bed at this point and are saddled with two mugs of steaming coffee at the kitchen table. They sit contentedly as the bunker slowly ticks to life. Sam and Eileen sleep in on Sundays, so even if Cas and Dean had any hesitations about the casual, intimate touches that they share over the table (and under it, with the bumping of their knees) no one else is around to see it anyway. 

  
  


They walk hand in hand up the steps and are greeted at the door by one of the regular Lay-Pastoral-Care Givers, Connie. They aren't early, so they head right up the sanctuary, taking the stairs to the left. Dean _has_ to peek his head in the community room first though, eyeing the donuts that he will most definitely be devouring during coffee hour later. 

As he stops for a quick survey of the set-up, Cas waits at the bottom of the stairs, taking a moment to just watch Dean do his thing. He loves just watching the way Dean moves, how he gets so excited over _donuts._ Cas appreciates little human things like this more and more everyday, and he is grateful to have Dean as his role-model in this aspect of life too. When Dean turns back around, about five seconds later, he has a smile wide on his freckled face. Holding out a hand for Cas to take, they hustle up the stairs for the service. Just as the piano springs to life they are sitting down in their usual seats near the back of the sanctuary, mouthing silent hellos to their neighbors and taking off their coats. It feels comfortable, like they’re meant to be there. 

This is the point where they both take a deep breath and shut their eyes for a few minutes. It’s their own little ritual of settling into the space. The graceful _plink_ -ing of the keys wash away any nagging thoughts hitching a ride. The asshole drivers of downtown that _nearly_ made them late, the disagreement at the grocery store about which milk to buy, where would they all go for New Years _and do we really have to go anywhere?_ Something about this practice holds back the dark edges of this endless year, from each of their heads. At least for the hour that the service takes up. 

The greeting music ends, and there's the Reverend, _Lyssa Magid,_ elevated by the slight step behind the podium that is unseen by the collective. The embodiment of _jovial,_ she stands tall and proud in her own traditional stohl: rainbow, like a watercolor painting. The opening words fall clear and refreshing into the ears of the crowd, almost like her voice is channeled directly from The Empress, a kind and loving mother. 

When she is finished, the choir rises and begins to sing:

“Morning has come, arise and greet the day!

Dance with joy and sing a song of gladness!

The light of hope here shines upon each face.

May it bring faith to guide our journey home.

A new day dawns, once more the gift is giv’n.

Wonder fills this moment shared together.

The light of peace shines upon each face.

May it bring faith to guide our journey home.

Open our eyes to see that life abounds;

Open our hearts to welcome it among us.

The light of love here shines upon each face.

May it bring faith to guide our journey home.”

Many people sing along, which Dean thinks is a bit cheesy. He clenches his jaw, not fully aware of the action, but when he hears Cas lightly humming in earnest beside him, he tells himself to stop being such an ass. 

That knee jerk reaction, however small, the grimace he surely had on his face, is a survival habit from his past. From protecting himself against He Who Shall Not Be Named. He silently shakes his head, trying to clear the flashback away, remove it from what he is currently experiencing. _He's here, next to Cas. He is here,, now._

Cas notices his minuet movement and side eyes him, questioning. Dean’s eyes meet his, he relaxes his jaw, makes his tongue lay back down against the bottom row of teeth, and gives him a little reassuring smile. He mouths _“later”._

Cas doesn’t read too far into it in the moment. These days, they’re constantly aiding each other in processing reactions to various things. Just, not in public. 

-

Cas loves the singing, it might even be his favorite part, besides the underlying granditude that most things here have to do with Jack directly. And he loves Jack, more than he can put into words (his love for Dean is a different kind).

Music is something he finds much more agreeable now that he is human, and live music? With singing and a grand piano? It’s spectacular, better than "angelic". 

Though he has all his memories, billions of years worth of memories with his angel “family”, wars, glory, devotion for his father, etc., he has _nothing_ filed away that compares to the charming voices and the familial energy within this sanctuary. The fact that simple songs have him brimming with joy… that tells him that Dean and him are doing something right by coming here, together. 

-

When he senses Dean shifting bedside him, he cracks his eye open, just to gauge Dean’s reaction to the song. It’s cheesy for someone who hasn't spent much time at church, sure, but he is doubtful that Dean would have a displeased reaction to it. Which, to his relief, it’s not a negative reaction to the song in the way he thinks it could be. Dean is tense, and Cas is long since familiar with the look on his face, of fighting off a voice in his head, a bigoted demon from the past. Dean nods reassuringly anyway, and mouths “ _later”_ as an invitation for Cas to bring it up after they get home in about 2 hours.

_“Open our eyes to see that life abounds;_

_Open our hearts to welcome it among us._

_The light of love here shines upon each face._

_May it bring faith to guide our journey home”_

He squeezes Dean’s hand, and Dean squeezes back. 

-

The postlude turns quickly into the time for coffee hour. Dean and Cas grab their coats, standing to stretch and chat now with the lovely family next to them on the bench. A young woman, skin browned, warmed from the sun and possibly farm work, and a young girl, not more than 6 years old. 

“What a lovely service. And that song in the beginning got me all teary… man, I love this place” she says, clearly a seasoned attendee of the church. She looks at Dean and Cas with a friendly smile. 

They both return the it, then, Cas taking the lead he warmly replies,

“Yes, I felt similarly. There isn’t anywhere else we’d rather be on a Sunday morning.” 

He places his _right hand_ on Dean's _left shoulder_ , and looks at Dean encouragingly, that celestial spark between them grounding them both a little deeper into their own feet. 

Before Dean can say anything, the little girl crawls into her mother’s lap with a curious, eager expression on her face. She looks them both in the face, then looks at her mom,

“My mommy is gay too!” She blurts out, then giggles and hides. 

Without missing a beat, the young woman stands, sticking her hand out for a shake.

“Forgot to install the filter on that one before I left the house again, huh.”

Dean is blushing, but only because he’s not used to other people besides Sam and the rest of their hunter family acknowledging him and Cas like that, and he's certainly not used to having the word _gay_ used so matter of fact and fondly in reference to him. Cas is chuckling. 

“I’m Anji, and this little hiding birdie is Erin.”

Cas shakes first, introducing the both of them,

“My name is Castiel, this is my partner Dean.”

Anji shakes each of their hands firmly, with fingers that clearly know their way around a guitar. Dean nods, still trying to breathe away the heat in his ears, but still beams easily. 

_Charlie is gonna laugh so hard when she hears about this. Almost can hear her now, “lesbians just love you, I guess, Dean”._

“So good to meet you Anji. And you too, Erin.”

Dean makes a show of peering around Anji to look at Erin, and she giggles some more, hiding her eyes. 

Anji continues,

“So, y’all are new to the area? We noticed you about a month back. I know the look of “give us space”, so I figured, we can wait to see if they stick around long enough for it to wear off. I hope I was right in thinking it has?”

The boys share a look, lips quirking into small smiles. It’s Dean’s turn to respond. 

“Yeah, thank you for that, honestly. We’ve uh, we’ve been going through… a lot. Big shifts, family drama, life.” He laughs quickly, suddenly feeling exposed, “Cas knows more about UU than me, but we’re both new to this church.”

Anji nods, eyes cool and understanding.

“This is our ‘healthy habit’” Cas says, air quotes and all. 

Anji nods, again, this time with a snort and a sigh,

“I feel you on that one."

She looks over her shoulder, checking to see that Erin hasn't run off, before adding, "You two staying for coffee hour? I’ll introduce you to the Reverend.”

“That would be wonderful” Cas answers for both of them. 

Anji leads Cas back to the stairs and down to the community space, Dean and Erin right behind. Their conversation is friendly, Anji asks what they do for work and how long they've lived in the area, Cas replies with the scripted answers that he and Dean agreed on. Dean is just awed that he gets to see Cas making friends. 

He almost doesn't notice Erin looking up at him. She is staring, a little apprehensive now that she is not in her mother’s lap or hiding behind her legs. Dean is _tall,_ his boots clunking loud on the old wooden stairs. She grins sheepishly up at him anyway.

“You’re really tall…" she says to Dean, halfway down the stairs already. 

“So I’ve been told.” then, laughing a little, "My brother is even taller." 

She gapes at him, "No way."

"I know."

They reach the bottom of the stairs. Dean hears Cas ask Anji _how old is Erin?_ and she says _she's 6._

They both turn, now standing in a small circle. 

"He's not lying" Cas says, having overheard their breif exchange. Looking to Dean admiringly, and then playfully at Erin, bending down a little as to even out the playing field as much as he can without kneeling.

"We call him 'moose'"

Erin really laughs at that one, which in turns causes them all to laugh too. 

"I like you guys…" Anji says, eyes flitting between Dean in his Henley and Castiel's worn wool sweater.

"c'mon. Time to make more new friends. I promise to only introduce you to cool people."

The four of them head towards the set of double doors, from where they can almost _feel_ the chest expanding, comforting hum that's coming from the other side. 

Dean rubs his hands together gleefully, remembering the donuts he spied earlier. 

-

Together, on a journey of untangling their hurt parts, their broken parts. The parts that have been mangled by fathers and left neglected by mothers. The love they share is the gold paint in the cracks of their regenerating will to thrive. One friend and one song at a time. 

In the car on the way home, Cas pulls out his phone and declares he is playing a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/53YDsYpZofDsWKJdyx7p4O?si=fWSV9CdUS76epfSYZHu46Q) of his own creation. 

"Whatever you want, baby."


	4. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas are mentally ill queers who smoke weed and go to church and see friends and use their big brains and snuggle and are in love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Nora, who knows how to edit and is a bad bitch

_"The quest of truth is its sacrament"_

_7:_ _13 AM_  
  


Dean is up before the alarm, his skin-crawling and his mind buzzing with circular thoughts. He rips off the covers and sits facing the wall, chest tight, ears pounding. Keeping his eyes closed, he runs his hands up and down his thighs in an attempt to bring his mind back up to earth, back to his body, back to Cas. 

Some mornings are more hellish than others. Whether it's the nightmares or the raging anxiety that viciously stirs him to consciousness all too suddenly. Either way, it is onerous to navigate. It doesn't matter how many years it's been since John’s abuse, his tour of hell, since Michael, and all the times he’s watched his loved ones die. The nightmares and breathtaking anxiety come now _because_ he is so freshly freed from the torture of a narrated life. In the spaciousness and promise of consistency, processing starts. The break he and Cas have _finally_ caught is still so raw and newfangled. Their opportunity to build a future without monsters or a big bad waiting for them has only _just barely_ started. 

He sucks the air in through his nostrils and holds it deep, letting it out as slowly as he can. He lightly scrapes his fingernails across his knees as he inhales again. 

The blankets beside him begin to rustle, Cas turns and reaches his arm blindly to where he knows Dean must be sitting. His hand lands on Dean just above the top of his boxers.

"Mmm," he grumbles "Dean, are you ok?" voice crackling from desertion. He opens his eyes and moves closer to where Dean sits, heeding his spasmodic breathing, a telltale sign of the near-panic that shakes his body. 

He wraps his arms around Dean's waist, hooking his chin between shirt hem and boxer clad thigh. Dean grimaces down at him. Cas just looks up into his eyes, watching as they dart nervously around the room. Dean blinks rapidly, trying to rid the clip from his nightmare from the playback reel in his mind.

He chuckles, exhausted from the rerun, exhaling as his hand comes to play with Cas's hair, sweeping it up and away, out of his eyes. 

This perturbed and saturated sour morning routine is quite common for them. Dean thinks, ironically, that he is grateful for the balance he and Cas miraculously have in this facet of existing together. The occurrence of waking into a state of alarm is so evenly split between them. Some mornings Cas is jittering out of the bed, his bare feet on the floor, willing himself to stay _here_ . When it isn't nightmares for Cas, it's sensory overload. 

In his newly-given humanness, he is unlearning everything he thought he knew about being human. With his Grace intact, he had the ability to see multiple dimensions and planes of existence all at once. But now, no matter how wide he strains to open his eyes, he cannot process all that he sees and it burns behind his eyes. His head pounds and his ears ring and every touch - the fabric of his clothes, dishes and silver wear, sometimes even Dean’s hands - is icy-hot in a deep and wrenching way. Some mornings it's just the light of the lamp on the bedside table that incapacitates him for most if not all of a day. It's confusing, chilling, and alarming in ways he is not familiar with.

_"Will you - will you watch over me, Dean? The touch it's… it's just too much right now"_

_"Yes. Anything you need."_

Other mornings it's Dean, like this, or worse curled in a ball with frozen lungs and hot tears sliding into his ear. 

Sure, therapy helps, but so does smoking a joint. They are disposed to participate in both activities. 

Dean kicks himself a little harder when this (the nightmares, the waking up panting _not in a fun way_ ) happens on a Sunday. So after he is able to unclench his fists and when the pattern of palms running up and down his legs (or in Cas’s hair) is done, Cas gives him a kiss on the temple. Then he gets up to grab the rolling tray. 

Dean scrunches his shoulders way up to his ears 

_breathing in_

really squeezing every muscle he’s capable of all at once. Shoulders touching the bottom of his earlobes, arms constricting against his ribs, hands locked tight around each other, eyelids clamped shut, mouth squished around itself - then a

_giant exhalation_

that is so resolute, he releases each of those places. A trick he learned from his therapist. 

Cas comes back a few minutes later with the tray and a cup of coffee. 

"Good thing Sam took off early this morning for that hunt. He left some coffee for us."

He nods to the mug in his hand,

"Still hot."

He smiles, knowing the lightness in conversation is appreciated. 

"Thank you." says Dean, scooting back to sit against the headboard, holding his hand out for the coffee.

Cas hands it to him and leans down for a kiss on the lips this time, then crawls over to his side of the bed and prepares their morning greens. Cas loves that he has learned (in some cases re-learned) to do such intricate things with his hands. Rolling a joint, signing a bit of ASL, sowing seeds into the earth, typing on the tiny phone screen…. _other_ things _._

"Do you want to talk about it?" He says between looking at Dean and sealing the brown paper with his tongue. 

"Not right now, but…" he shakes his head lightly. A pink blush rising in his cheeks he continues, "can we just - will you promise we can, uh, t-touch all day long? I need it today." 

Cas smiles, relieved that it isn’t as intense of a morning as he knows it could be, 

"Of course, Dean." and the corners of his lips stay turned, comforting.

_Like that will be a stretch._

It's the type of day where Cas helps Dean with every task, not because he physically needs help to do it, but because everything moves fluidly with Cas’s reassurance. There is a mutual understanding that Cas brings light to the chaos of shadows and voices in Dean's mind. Truth. Cas brings truth when Dean is lost.

"Ready?" He says smiling, waggling his eyebrows at Dean playfully. 

Dean huffs before standing, taking a moment to be sure that his knee is steady before grabbing a flannel to pull over his shoulders and tosses another one over for Cas to do the same.

Cas walks towards a semi-secret exit that opens into a small courtyard to the side of the bunker. This was not here before The Empty took him, but Jack clearly took a few liberties as God: bringing back Cas, updating a things around the bunker, endless luck with hacked credit cards,, etc. He figures he owes them, they deserve to have everything they need to be happy, they're his parents after all.

-

_7:45 AM_

"Well, thank you, Jack.” Dean smiles into it, the smallest bit bashful at the admission of being indebted for _this._ He’s never planned on being in his 40s and in a position to actually smoke weed, so sue him if he’s a tad hesitant still even with no one else around to judge him. 

_It’s not_ not _a prayer._

Looking around the small plant-filled corner, he takes a long drag of the joint. Cas watches him, still cautious from Dean's earlier state, but tries not to look too motherly. He smiles, hope building behind it, and takes the joint as Dean exhales. They are having a conversation about smoking tricks.

"I can make an O, Dean."

He raises his eyebrows

"Oh yeah? Let's see it, big boy." he grins, a challenge. 

Cas squints at him before hitting it, at first inhaling into his lungs, then containing the smoke in his mouth. 

He looks at Dean before lowering the joint, then raises his free hand. He makes a small "O" shape with his mouth and lets out two perfect rings of white smoke. Then, he makes the shape of his mouth even smaller and using the first finger of his raised hand, taps the hollow of his cheek in quick succession. Dozens of little white donuts lift off into the air from his lips. 

Proud of his work, he exhales the rest of his lung’s contents and bows slightly. 

"Thank you, thank you," he says in mock sincerity. 

Dean laughs. 

"You really _do_ know how to do everything, huh?"

"You're quite lucky." Cas says, then hands the joint back to him. 

"That's true." Dean says sincerely, looking Cas in the eyes. 

They sit there, pressed tightly together from shoulder to ankle until there's just a black-ended roach. They each stand, swaying momentarily as the feeling of altered gravity weighs against them, stretching before heading inside to make breakfast. 

-

Where the weed had settled Dean's nervous system, it also dampened his level of actually feeling awake. That’s where the coffee comes in to even him out. 

They wash up and dress before heading back down the hall to the kitchen. 

"I'm _starving._ " Cas says

Dean laughs, his chest not tight anymore.

"I still can't believe _you're_ the one to get the munchies so bad." 

He is cuddly all morning, between being at the stove and the table. Not like Cas would let him out of his reach anyway, so they sit on the same side as they sip from their cups. The bacon frying is background noise to the episode of _The Good Place_ playing in front of them on Dean's laptop. 

Dean gets up to flip the quickly crisping pieces of meat, shaking his head with amusement as Cas comments on one of Jason's similes about Florida. _How could Florida possibly be like that in real life? Is he serious, Dean?_

He's seen this show so many times now that the content all blurs together. 

After they've eaten the bacon and toast and some _real_ donuts he had saved in the cabinet, Dean washes the dishes, and Cas dries. They are still stuffed and a bit stoned as they make their way to the Impala. 

-

 _9:45 AM_

Getting to the church early is soothing to both of their nerves. _We can’t be high_ and _late to the service._ So with laced fingers, they head up the steps two at a time, giggling because no one is stopping them from these more-childlike indulgences anymore. 

In the sanctuary Cas thanks the usher for the program before handing it to Dean. With his free hand he finds Dean’s hip and pulls him closer as they walk to a pew near the back. He sees Anji and Erin a few rows over, with a few other folks they've met: Connie, a member of the congregation and one of the Lay Pastoral Care Givers, Micah, an elderly gentleman who is the king of the kitchen (at least during coffee hour), and Jude, one of the young people who frequent the church, usually in a jean jacket covered in pins. Erin waves back fanatically while Anji looks genuinely happy to see them as well. She flashes a peace sign at them. 

Dean waves back and he smiles, nodding his hello. It's less of a strain than he expected, given his baseline today. Talking, or exerting any extra effort to communicate to anyone other than Cas after rough mornings is never on his list of interests for the day that follows. 

Cas gently pulls him into the pew to sit beside him. 

-

The piano stops, and Reverend Magid stands. Tall and graceful like an oak, she greets the congregation with her usual words of affirmation and gratitude before diving right into the sermon.

“This morning, the reading I have prepared comes from Elizabeth V. Spelman's work called 'Selection From Repair: The Impulse to Restore in a Fragile World'. 

'The Human Being is a repairing animal. Repair is ubiquitous, something we engage in every day and in almost every dimension of our lives. Homo sapiens is also Homo reparans…

From apologies and other informal attempts at patching things up to law courts, conflict mediation, and truth and reconciliation commissions, we try to reweave what we revealingly call the social fabric. No wonder, then, that H. reparans is always and everywhere on call: we, the world we live in, and the objects and relationships we create are by their very nature things that can break, decay, unravel, fall to pieces…

To repair is to acknowledge and respond to the fracturability of the world in which we live in a very particular way--not by simply throwing our hands up in despair at the damage, or otherwise accepting without question that there is no possibility of or point in trying to put the pieces back together, but by employing skills of mind, hand, and heart to recapture an earlier moment in the history of an object or a relationship in order to allow it to keep existing.'"

Her carefully crafted words flow between the comfortable and round songs from the piano, the story for all ages, and the various candles of joys, hopes and concerns that are lit. During the silent meditation, Dean and Cas each have thoughts.

_Dean thinks he will spend the rest of his life repairing himself, putting the pieces back where they belong so he can be who he really is, so he can see how Cas sees him. Loving Cas is intrinsic, it had been his unspoken truth for so long. With this freedom he’s been gifted, he hopes to bring every fractured element of queerness to the surface of who he is. He wants to live. He wants to live and to love Cas without hesitation._

_Cas thinks he will spend the rest of his life learning to be himself. It’s been months since he got back, so Cas isn’t completely settled in his freedoms yet, and he knows that part of it has to do with a deeper truth, a piece of him that’s been now fully born along with his humanness: something he never expected to come to terms with. Loving Dean is intrinsic, it’s been his truth for so long now, and without it he would no doubt be a shell of a person._

_If he can do_ this _, he will have Dean to love him and he will be able to love himself. He is so grateful to live._

-

During coffee hour, Anji slides up right next to Dean in the small crowd surrounding the mismatched cluster of tables where donuts and mugs are spread out. The blue table cloth a humble dressing; oblong, hanging modestly over the front, and not so much to the sides. 

"Hey Dean, how's it hangin?" she says brightly, her smile twinkles.

Upon the greeting, his smile cracks deeper 

"Heya, Anji." 

"I was picking my way through a shop a few towns over yesterday and I found something that just screamed _you._ " She digs through her backpack and pulls out a small leather-bound journal. 

"I know the guy who makes 'em, so don't even try to tell me it's 'too much'... "

Dean's surprise is not hidden from his face, but it shifts to profound appreciation quick enough to satisfy her.

"Anyway, I know a poet when I see one. I hope you'll use it." 

He rubs the back of his neck, a little bit shy now, but admires the journal as he accepts the gift from her. 

"Wow Anji, it's beautiful. Thank you, I- I don't know what to say-" but before he can finish, Erin comes screeching out of the Children's Chapel and collides with her mother. He chuckles as they stagger backwards. 

"Oh! Ya got me!" Anji plays defeat, patting Erin's head as she giggles. 

"I think it's time for us to go, but Dean, text me if you or Cas are interested in any of the volunteer work for next month, ok?"

"Will do." He says, and as they start to walk away he calls out "take it easy on your mom there, Erin." 

He takes another look at the journal before slipping it into his back pocket, words yearning to be written already bubbling up in his mind. He's drawn out of his thoughts when there's a warm hand on his shoulder, and he turns to see Cas's shining face. 

"Hey, baby," he says, voice low and casual, his hand drawing a wide line down Dean's arm, "are you getting coffee?" 

"Yeah, I was just catching up with Anji before she had to run.” He gestures to where her and Erin are disappearing through the grand double doors. “Should I get you a cup too?"

“Please.” He says with a smile and watches as Dean pours the two cups. He adds just the right amount of milk and sugar for Cas’s because he is picky about his coffee. 

Leading him by the hand, Dean spots one of the loveseats against the far wall unoccupied. They sit down there together to finish their coffees and see how many people they recognize in the crowd. There are kids everywhere in the community room now, finding their parents and waving around some sort of craft they must have just made as a group. 

“Are kids always this hyper?” Dean says, tired from just watching them zing around the room, laughing and talking _very_ loudly, though they seem to have better self-control than other children he’s met. 

Cas hums from behind his mug, then nods before saying, 

“From my knowledge of children I can attest that yes, they are. Often, even more so.” 

-

As they walk back to the Impala, Dean’s arm around Cas’s shoulder, and Cas’s hand in Dean’s back pocket, they discuss possible plans for the rest of the day. The spring sun is golden and crisp. In the car on the way home Cas picks _Happy Together_ by The Turtles to play first. Dean gives him a face, because he can't _not,_ it's cheesy stuff, but they both know he likes it. He sings the chorus obnoxiously until Dean joins him, which of course he always does. 

Home in the bunker Cas naps while Dean sits back against the wall, journal and a pen in hand. He writes, and for the first time in weeks the honesty in his words are not a wild thing bursting out of him, unlike the several times he attempted on paper to correctly word what he needed to say after Cas's confession. He looks down at Cas, who's lightly snoring, soft in a grey Henley and he is contented. This poem comes easy. 

-

_3:00 PM_

Sitting outside the early spring breeze feels delightful in contrast to the somewhat stuffy library. They had worked hard, as soon as the ground unfroze, to beat down paths in the hillsides surrounding the bunker. Their own little hiking trails and network of sit spots. At the top of one of the hills, facing west, they secured a bench into the ground. This afternoon, they walked up there together hand in hand. Cas doesn't know this, but earlier after they got home, Dean spent some quite time writing. He was busy dreaming. Now, Dean has the small journal that Anji gifted him in his back pocket. A poem for Cas already jotted on the first page. 

Just listening to the birds and the breeze is nice, but there’s something eating at Cas, something hovering at the forefront of his mind. He shifts on the bench, putting space between them before he grabs both of Deans hands in his and begins to speak. 

"I’m hoping I can share some of my recent thoughts with you…” Cas looks out down the hill, and further, to where miles and miles of fields stretch on. He’s a little nervous.

Dean nods, “What’s up, baby?”

“When I came back… once I could think clearly again, I was _deeply_ uncertain of what being responsible for this body would entail." He looks at his hands, mouth sticky and dry. 

"Over a lifetime of being told my motives are wrong, my feelings are wrong, that m-my love is wrong. Living, it-it didn't, it didn't mean what it means to me now, being my own person. I knew as an angel that the only ties to human sexuality gender I had were Jimmy. A cisgender, heterosexual man. But an angel isn't ‘a man’, or ‘a woman'. Dean sees him fight the urge to use air quotes.

He takes a deep breath, and letting it _whoosh_ between his teeth as he exhales, settling, even though he is quite sure of what he is about to say. Dean is looking at him, face open but focused. 

"I have to be honest, it was more terrifying than I would have guessed to know that this - this body, this mind - is really who I am now. But, I know who I am. I have a good idea at least, the human part is something I'm sure I'll be figuring out for the rest of my life." He huffs a laugh, shaking his head.

Dean nods, not totally sure where this is going, but steady, accepting whatever it is that will be the conclusion of this moment. He notices Cas's confident, steady posture, his hair shining in the sun, almost as if it's not as rich or deep shaded as it was the day before. 

"In ' _The Good Place'_ when Janet responds to Jason by saying she's 'not a girl'? That's - that's what it's like for me too."

He looks Dean directly in the eye, they're glimmering with love.

"Except for me, it's 'not a man'. I've never been that, and being human doesn't change that." 

He maintains the eye contact, feeling his own pulse quick and hot under the collar of his shirt, but he's _sure._ Dean's gaze is searching, but not tinted by anything even close to amusement or doubt. There had been some space made between them in order for Cas to deliver him this message but now it seems like a canyon between them. 

"Cas…" with glassy eyes and a proud smile Dean opens his arms before asking, "can I hug you?"

That little place in his chest cracks open again and he lets Dean's love soak into his heart. Collar to collar, Dean's arm tight around his waist while his other hand the back of his head, fingers tangled in the messy warm waves. 

Of course he had no doubt that Dean would receive this admission with acceptance and love, Dean is incapable of rejecting any part of him, but the inherent hesitation and avoidance around sharing his feelings and thoughts had been so pounded into his entire existence that it’s not surprising to either of them that this is intense all around. No matter their history. He was confident going into this conversation that this was just another layer of the person he has been the whole time, it's just that being an angel is very far from the same thing as being a human. Cas has had faith in Dean Winchester for a _long_ time, so maybe now he can have faith in himself too.

For Dean, this doesn't change much. He's only being led deeper into his own queer identity. He gets to step up and embrace the truth that both of them share. 

"I see you," he says firmly, quietly, against the side of Cas's head. "However you feel, whatever your gender - or, or lack of - I love you. Just tell me what you need from me."

A tear does slip down Cas's cheek at this, because it feels just like white-hot joy, relief, to hear this from the one person he loves the most in the whole entire universe. Like when he got back and Dean could finally say _I love you, too._ Cas’s hands vacillate between flat palms, and gripping the back of Dean's t-shirt. A laugh, relieved, bubbles up from somewhere hidden deep that he was not aware he was harboring inside of himself. 

_This, my friends, is queer joy._

They breathe. Time passes around them without words, just the pattern of their hearts aligning. They aren't fully aware of this, but Jack is supremely proud of them in moments like this, when the two of them share their truths, first with themselves and then with the other. It's catharsis. 

The breeze blows warm, and the birds sing a little sweeter. Dean pulls away slightly to plant a kiss, a blessing, in the middle of Cas's forehead, before looking into his eyes again. 

"Thank you." His watery smile coloring his entire face. "I love you."

It's the most unburdened he's felt since last November. Even clearer than when he sacrificed himself. So, he sits pressed to Dean, floating on the little hill facing the sun and listens to all the rustling and twittering of the breathing, vibrant world surrounding him. When Dean looks at him, as he so often does with those sparkling green eyes, Cas thinks that _this_ is the third most beautiful moment of his entire life. 

_The first moment? When Dean Winchester was carried out of hell, protected by his Grace, then reanimated, reconstructed by his own hand. The second? When he put into concrete words, then said it out loud what Dean means to him, saving humanity._

He's grateful that this moment isn't sad, or heartbreaking. They feel free, and real, and held. 

-

_3:30 PM_

There's obviously a lot to sort through with this new- _ish_ understanding being out in the open, but they have plenty of time. Plenty of time to assign words to what this means for both of them. After, Cas tells Dean that he really is impartial to pronouns, but that "he" and "they" are most acceptable for use right now in reference to him. Then their conversation turns back to _The Good Place._

"I knew there was another reason I love Janet so much. It’s not only because she’s hot, though, you do have that in common with her too.” He makes a face of mock realization, teasing, and his chest vibrates as he laughs lowly. Cas laughs too, squeezing the hand that is united with Dean's.  
  


“Hmmm," Cas sighs, "it helped me understand, truly. It's difficult to acquire all the language needed to explain human identities… Thank you for binge-watching that show around me so much... Jason is quite adorable if you’re wondering my opinion.”

“Did you just compare me to _Jason_?” He says with faux disbelief.

Cas shrugs, grinning playfully, all nerves forgotten. Dean looks thoughtfully out over the small fields lined with trees around them. 

"Anyway...Yeah." _it helped him realize too, that he loves Cas for being himself, his soul, his journey._

"Oh hey, I almost forgot-"

He leans over, fishing out the small leather-bound notebook that was almost too big to stuff in his pocket hours earlier. 

"Anji gave this to me earlier, said when she found it, it ‘called to her’, and she _had_ to give it to me."

He shrugs, showing it to Cas, who runs a single finger over the cover. Smooth in most places, textured diagonally in others, the shade of green so deep it is nearly black. 

"That Anji, she’s outstanding…" they trail off to take the journal into both of their hands, admiring the craftsmanship and opening it to examine the pages. Already written inside, on the very first page is Dean's scrawling lines.

"I come up blubbering

deep in my mind

I was 

_drowning_.

asphyxiated

welded to the space 

between god 

& my own backhand. 

You changed _me._

2, 5, 7:13 AM you are 

mellow 

breath against my ear

& 6:45, 9, 11 PM my hands 

map your face, even though 

I know now 

how to not be devastated.

Grateful for what I am

 _Becoming_

Every glint of your 

_cornflower?_ _or is it azure?_

eyes 

clocking me

Holding me tight.

There's you,

the bees

& the flaxen grass "

He reads it twice, delightfully surprised by this turn of events. Before Dean can even try to brush off the purpose of the journal, that he wants them to share intimate words, he is pulling Dean's chin down so their lips meet, sweet and staunch. When he pulls away, he taps the page where the writing is.

"This-" they look affectionately at him, 

"This, is _beautiful,_ Dean _._ " 

And as if to soothe the blush that rises in Dean's cheeks _because of course he's blushing, he just wrote some sap poem about the love of his life and then somehow had the balls to show it to them, also not knowing they were about to come out to him_ , he peppers kisses to each of his cheekbones and the tip of his nose. 

"I look forward to navigating this endeavor of poetry with you." It’s quiet and soft and full of adoration.

"Me too." And he isn't even lying. 


	5. A Little Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas needs some new clothes, Dean is helpful and honest. They both take time to be of service to the community and love on each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve decided to mostly refer to Cas as “they” for the sake of simplicity. Yes this chapter is over 5k I have no idea how to stop myself it JUST KEEPS GOING. 
> 
> Thank you to Nora, my love. And strangely enough??? My mom helped edit this too. Mwah!

_ "And service is its prayer _ ."

_ Thursday 10 AM _

"Babe," sing-songing from the top of the stairs Dean calls, "close Tumblr and let’s go!”

After Dean had done some research on how to support a loved one after they come out as trans & nonbinary, Dean asked Cas if they would like to go shopping for some new clothes, or maybe a haircut. Cas had passed on the haircut, saying  _ I know  _ you  _ like it the way it is, Dean. I’ll keep it like it is.  _ Dean noticed after that Sunday out in the sun that Cas’s hair was definitely not as hickory as it was  _ before,  _ but it is decidedly not something they’re worried about. The human body does all kinds of unexplainable things. 

More clothes, and of a wider variety of styles added to their meager collection sounded awesome to Cas, and to Dean too for his wardrobe, but he’s still not sure if that’s at the top of his personal to-do list.

“Coming!” Cas shouted back, shuffling through the library and past the map table, hand-me-down blue sneakers soundless on the shiny cool floor. They looked up at Dean curiously, brows lightly knitted together, thinking of how to word their multiple questions about this Tumblr app in a way that would actually make sense. Instead, smiling slightly he says, 

“It’s a weird application, Dean. When I try to search for certain things, it says ‘what you’re looking for doesn’t exist’ or ‘nothing to see here’. Why would someone make a website without a proper search function?” 

Dean makes a face, just as confused, because he has no idea how Tumblr works, but laughs anyway because of course,  _ this  _ is the type of thing that has them both confused and pondering these days. It’s a better alternative, he thinks, to figuring out how to kill a warepire. 

Baby’s seats are warm from the late spring sun as they both slide into their spots, Cas's hand finding Dean's thigh to give it an excited squeeze as Dean turns the key over in the ignition. They don't go into town much, but the drive is worth it because Cas looks so beautiful. Their hair tawny in the light, laced with honey, and blown wildly by the breeze that comes in through the cracked windows. 

_ And if she grabs for your hand _

_ And drags you along  _

_ She might want a kiss _

_ Before the end of the song _

Every time Dean chances a glance at Cas sitting next to him looking perfectly relaxed and content, he thinks  _ damn I am so fucking lucky _ . Obviously he has this thought quite often. 

_ While the others talk _

_ We were listening to lovers rock _

_ In her bedroom _

Arm slung across the top of the bench, Cas plays with the short hairs at the back of Dean’s neck. Idle touches all the way to the thrift store because they’re never going to get over just how amazing it feels to be able to touch Dean however they want. The music plays, low enough for conversation but Dean turns the volume down further before he speaks and spares a longer glance over at Cas before focusing on the road again. 

“So, I was serious earlier when I said I am here to support you and be involved in any way you want me to be. If you want help picking out stuff in any of the stores, or if you don’t want my input, any of that crap, whatever you need. Different pronouns at home versus when we go out, if you want to be out at church, or not, I’ll be here to make sure it goes smoothly.” The gesture he makes, taking a hand off the wheel, says  _ bottom line. _

Attentively looking at Dean, Cas thinks about his options, fingers still tracing at the back of his neck. They tilt their head to one side before making any definitive statements.

“I have no shame. Supposedly I’m in my mid-40's right? I think it would be a dishonor, to Jack and to myself and to you, if I were to be anything but myself in every aspect of my life. I’m good with who I am.” A proud, then humorous smile, slipping onto their face, winking at Dean in the split second he looks over again.

“Thank you for asking me, and thank you for being here.”

The shops are mostly quiet, in the thrift store there are only a few patrons, lackadaisically picking through racks of second hand clothing, with iced-beverages, purses, or strollers in one hand. With knitted fingers, Dean and Cas move through the aisles with ease. Dean has ideas about what Cas might want here, and he definitely has his own visions about the kinds of clothes  _ he _ would  _ like  _ to see Cas wear. 

He toys with the idea that _maybe they want to wear dresses, or a skirt_ but quickly snaps himself out of it, surprised. It’s been so many years since he’s seriously entertained any ideas like this, and he doesn’t want to be a perv. _Is_ _it being a perv if we're both old? And they're the love of my life? Isn't this some sort of internalized shit?_ Has it really been so long since he was a teenager, wearing panties in secret and daydreaming about someone, muscled and hairy in short, silky clothing? He never thought he’d allow himself to have these types of thoughts ever again. _It's about Cas, now it's allowed to be about Cas. This is ok._

Blinking, he looks down to the row of shirts Cas is currently inspecting. One by one they judge each shirt by color and then fabric and then by design if it has any. A few they take off the rack, smoothing down the wrinkles as they drape it over their arm. 

Observing an ex-angel decide which t-shirt they want to wear shouldn’t be this endearing, and it wouldn’t be to some stranger, but it is to Dean.

“You’re so cute,” Dean says.

Cas looks at him almost startled, judgement process interrupted, but smiles nonetheless. 

“I’m just deciding about t-shirts, Dean.” 

The affectionate note helps to remind them what they’re doing here because despite being excited about this mission for new things, they are sort of apprehensive. There’s a layer of overwhelm that is seemingly about to boil over with the fluorescent lights and hand-me-down-must in the air. Cas never had to think about clothes before they were human, and so far deciding about it has mostly been about practicality, being physically comfortable. Now they are purposely navigating a gender experience through clothing, and Dean is unconditionally by their side. It’s not bad, Cas and Dean are more similar in this department than Dean would ever share with most people. But still, a trans ex-angel and their queer boyfriend searching the local Savers for gender affirming clothing does not happen enough as it should for them.

“Hey, we both know I’m right,” Dean reassures. Unconcerned, he leans in and presses a kiss to their forehead, “I get to say it as many times as I want.”

Dean’s touch, his words, they’re nearly always soothing. Cas just squeezes his hand, twice like a heartbeat, before exhaling some of the stress he was holding onto. 

“I’m feeling a bit… overwhelmed, by the options? I don’t really know where to start.” They look to Dean, then gestures around them to the different sections of the space marked by the giant signs hanging from the ceiling. 

“I have ideas of what  _ I  _ think you’ll look good in, but I don’t know what will feel good for you to actually wear.” Dean’s smile is cool, collected.

“Maybe we should, uhm, look in the women’s section? It’s all just material sewn into different shapes, really.” 

_ so they’re human and  _ still _ a mind reader? _

“Yeah, totally. Exactly.”

No one pays them any mind as they look through racks of bright button-downs and floral shirts, even the granny who has to squeeze past them, cart half full but clearly still on the hunt.

When they get to the dressing room Cas pulls Dean inside and points at the little bench for him to sit while Cas pulls their shirt over their head, then steps out of their pants. He tries on a few pairs of jeans, one not fitting right at all, too tight on the bottom for his liking. He stays in a pair of loose, light wash jeans with a giant rip in the knee. The cuffs are a little frayed, and he decides he likes it. Dean watches admiringly and tells Cas how to make sure the clothing fits comfortably. 

“Ok, so bend over, try to touch your toes, sit down, wiggle around. It shouldn’t be too tight anywhere or feel like it’s squeezin’ you in the wrong places.”

“It’s still kind of weird to have to think about my body this much.” Cas says with a huff, sitting next to Dean, trying to focus on his bodily sensations.

“Not too surprising, considering you’ve only really been you for less than 6 months. It’s been - it’s been getting better, right? O-or getting uh, different, at least?”

“Yes. Different. Everything is always better when you’re with me, anyway.” Dean blushes a little as he hears Cas’s words. It’s a pink, warm feeling, that only transpires with Cas.

“Ok ok, let’s see those t-shirts.”

-

Over the bed, Dean dumps out each bag of freshly bought clothing, spreading them out to tally in his head again what they ended up walking away with. Cas sits between the pillows at the head of the bed and watches Dean take inventory before they toss each piece into the hamper. Cas’s favorite of the haul being a floral collared button-down, a t-shirt with insects crawling all over in a diagonal pattern, and an 80s patchwork skirt that Dean found, with an orange long sleeved thing to go along. Cas thinks about how some things they found will only be for wearing around the bunker when Sam and Eileen are  _ not  _ around, then he’ll convince Dean to wear them too. 

A fire grows, right inside Castiel's chest as they move alongside Dean in the laundry room, loading the washing machine full of the new-to-them clothes. 

“Might wanna wash that shirt you're wearing now, too." Dean flashes his teeth, cocky. 

"Huh, yours is looking rather unclean as well."

They end up stripping entirely, Cas laughing and stumbling the whole way to the other side of the hall where Dean pushes them into the shower. 

“Just let me do it, would ya’?” He says as Cas tries a less-than-convincing  _ I want to do it myself  _ face.

Together they dress, but not before a lavish layer of Shea butter has been spread over forearms and shoulder blades, wiping away water droplets before massaging it across pec muscles and soft stomachs. This type of worship, feeling the solid human muscle beneath Cas’s skin, and for him to get that same reverent, loving touch in return, makes his heart hiccup and pound.  _ I deserve this. I do.  _

What else is there to do on a Thursday afternoon?

  
  


_ 7PM _

Cas is smooshed up against Dean on the couch in the  _ Deancave,  _ watching some shitty 2000s movie with Molly Shanon and Paul Rudd. He basically laughs the entire time, because it’s just so stupid and campy, but he loves it. They’ve warmed up to these types of movies, and they laugh in time with the jokes, rolling their eyes and tutting.

Dean’s phone  _ pings  _ and he snakes his arm out from around Cas to look at the screen. It’s a text from Anji. 

_ Anji: _

_ Dean!! You + Cas = volunteering for the church soon? _

_ Dean:  _

_ Hey Anji _

_ We’re still up for the community service day.  _

_ Cas is good in the garden, I’d probably be better in the kitchen.  _

_ Anji:  _

_ I think you’d definitely look good in the kitchen, yeah ;) I’ll let Micah know.  _

_ We haven’t finalized all the groupings yet, but we have an organizing meeting tomorrow morning. I think I can get Castiel in my group, I’m planning on having the regulars from the CC and OWL help with planting flowers and shit. _

_ Dean:  _

_ Cas thinks so 🤷🏼‍♀️😳😏 _

_ Thanks dude, they'll love that.  _

_ Oh ps, Cas uses they and he pronouns now 👍 I’m sure they’ll text you too about it _

_ Anji: _

_ Thank you for telling me!!! 🌈⭐️  _

_ Oh hey, you’ll definitely want to talk with Micah on Sunday then. He will have some good elder wisdom for you. Do you know any other LGBTQ+ ppl around here? _

_ Dean:  _

_ No, we really don’t know people in the community _

_ Like at all. Is Micah LGBTQ+?  _

_ Anji:  _

_ Hooo baby, Micah is the trans dad everyone wishes they had. He’s very open about it too. Kind of a big role model around here.  _

_ Dean:  _

_ Can’t wait for Sunday. Thanks again, Anj _

  
  


_ Sunday 8 AM  _

Sunday morning rolls around again, and on the soft pillow top, wrapped right with a fluffy blanket so does Dean. Snuggling his head under Cas’s chin he takes a deep breath that smells of faintly of patchouli and shea butter. While Cas is still sleeping  _ like a log  _ he splays his left hand over their heart and listens, slack from deep sleep, feeling the warmth of their skin radiating and their heart beating steadily. Being connected to them is addictive in a thirst quenching way, and they thrum with electricity, glowing. It tingles down his fingers just to touch their skin, to feel the breath move through their chest. He gets a few minutes of this bliss, slowly waking up, before Cas starts to stir.

From the depths of dreams Cas's hands twitch and clutch at Dean's shoulder, murmering something in Enochian. Then, inhaling sharply, they roll onto their back away from Dean, whipping back the covers. A “too hot” and “too crowded” feeling zinging under their skin. Dean cracks an eye, grumpy because morning cuddles are usually required, but assessing Cas's body language is more important. 

"Cas?" He asks, voice hushed and hoarse, "Are you ok?"

Body tensed, Cas keeps their eyes closed though their face radiates annoyance.

Dean reaches out to place his hand on Cas's arm, both question and reassurance, letting them know he's there.

Quietly, Cas says "Need a minute." and frowns, grimacing slightly.

Dean pulls his hand away, resting it just next to where he wishes it could be. 

"Sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry…"

"The dreams again?"

"Yes.” They sigh deeply, “I wake up and my skin doesn't feel like it’s me."

"Is there anything I can do?” He closes his eyes, brain still fuzzy, but formulating options of support. 

“I think… I think I’ll be better if I go smoke, take a few minutes to breathe, be alone. Will you roll me something?” 

“Of course, baby.” Dean rubs his eyes, sitting up, but before he goes “A kiss?” 

Cas’s small smile, and tap to their cheek, is the answer Dean was hoping for. He knows about this affliction, from how Cas describes it, and from experiences he’s read online. Lots of trans and non-binary people have a complicated and sometimes unpredictable relationship with their bodies. He certainly has his fair share of feeling like a stranger in his own body, so, he can relate in some ways. 

He leans down to plant a chaste kiss to their cheek, before sitting on the edge of the bed to stretch, his back and shoulders and knees a chorus of  _ pop-pop _ - _ crack.  _ As he is twisting the top of the joint, he remembers their day ahead.

“Do you still want to do the volunteer stuff later?"

"I'm looking forward to that still. I think it will be just what I need.”

Dean is inside in the kitchen starting the coffee maker when Cas plops themself down on the chilled stone bench in the leafy courtyard, fiddling with their phone for a moment before taking a deep inhalation of the citrusy smoke.

_ Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy _

_ Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry _

They scrunch every muscle possible as tight as they can manage, one by one, before exhaling the cloud of smoke, shaking their shoulders out. It really is a good thing to know this trick, because they feel more inside their body every time afterward. 

_ Sunshine on the water looks so lovely  _

_ Sunshine almost always makes me high _

They think about how each plant wakes up in this same place, every day, doing it’s best. Soaking in the sun, growing, vibrating, sending messages through its roots. 

_ If I had a tale I could tell you  _

_ I’d tell a tale sure to make you smile  _

They let their mind wander, imagining what it might feel like to be a leaf or a petal. Dean cracks the door open, shoulder and head peaking out into the lukewarm morning sunshine. 

_ If I had a wish that I could wish for you _

_ I’d make a wish for sunshine for all the while _

"Can I sit with you?"

Cas pats the spot next to them on the bench, and hands what’s left of the joint for Dean to take.

“Thanks.” He takes a small hit. “Thoughts to share with the class?”

"I was just imagining what it’s like to be a leaf.” They say with a green smile.

Dean isn’t phased in the slightest, by that or by the John Denver song. He’s long since accepted that Cas listens to any songs that have “vibes”, whatever that means. 

“In all seriousness, I wish I could speak with Jack, about queerness. I'm sure he could give me advice on this whole complex human identity thing now that he is all-knowing."

Dean nods, wishing he had something helpful to say, because he too wishes he could ask Jack a billion questions. 

“I miss him.” It’s an acknowledgment, his light high taking the edge off of the sadness that is held in his soul for the physical absence of their son. 

“Me fuckin’ too.”

-

"Good morning, everyone.” Reverend Magid’s smiling voice carries through the sheltered sanctuary.

“No matter what you are you carrying with you today, we welcome you. In sadness, confusion, and fear, in hope, joy, and peace, we are so glad you’ve joined us this morning. It’s Community Day! A day where we come together after the service to put a little extra love into this place, this community, that so many of us have found a home in.” 

The musical interludes are beautiful, like always, and Cas feels themself become steadier as the hour advances. Through the opening sermon, the story for all ages, the sharing of joys and concerns, which round out with a song like always, Dean is warm and even-breathed beside them. Their rock.

  
  


"Our time of worship for today is now concluded, but the work of service has only just begun. As you head into the days and weeks ahead, may you see clearly, and carry the light of love in your hearts."

-

“Dean, I’m surprised I haven’t seen you at one of these volunteer days before.”

Micah says as he chops carrots and pushes the little wheels to the far side of the cutting board in a big pile. He stands shorter than Dean, the slight plump of his stomach below the high countertop. 

“Yeah, me and my partner — Cas, they’re out with the garden crew right now —we’ve needed some time to settle into our new… life routine. It’s been a rough six months or so.”

He finishes scrubbing a colander of potatoes and rinses them once more in the sink before setting it down next to his own cutting board.

“Well, we’re glad you decided to join us. I’m always thankful for helping hands in here.” He puts down his knife to roll the sleeves of his shirt up further, eyes twinkling. “You passed the trust test when you didn’t put the garlic in until the end of making that sauce.” 

Dean laughs, “Thanks.”

“Anji’s told me a lot about you, by the way, and I’m guessing she told you some about me too. Just in case it wasn’t clear, any questions you have, or support you might need, please feel free to come to me.”

It takes him a beat to respond, thinking,  _ will I ever get used to accepting support? _

He wishes he could just say  _ thank you so much I feel lost a lot and it’s good to know that there is someone I can come to  _ but of course he fumbles. “Yeah, I’ll uh, take you up on that.” He clears his throat, “Uh, that Anji sure is somethin’ else. She’s done a lot to make us feel welcome here. I was, um, nervous about coming here at first.”

Micah’s eyebrows rise just slightly, though his mild amusement is masked well by his cool understanding.

They work through the potatoes together, peeling and chopping for awhile while shifting back into small talk. Before long they’re cleaning up.

"If you don't mind me asking, Dean, what brought you and - is it Castiel? - here, to this church."

"It's Castiel, yeah." He nods, clearing his cutting board, the wet  _ plunk  _ potato chunks falling into a huge metal bowl.

"We’ve been going through some really big changes. There was a loss in our family a few months back, and a huge shift in our relationship. It's a little hard to believe we are even here…. alive… and with each other. I never pictured myself being out, and happy, with the love of my life… so, I feel - well blessed isn't a word I like to use but - we decided we needed to do something to show our gratitude. To the universe, or whatever. It's  _ really  _ important to us to have this community. We’ve never been a part of something like this before.”

_ Is it 10 degrees hotter in here?  _ He swipes the back of his hand across his forehead, shifts on his feet. 

"That feels like oversharing, but, seriously I appreciate the offer of a listening ear, so. Trying to get better at accepting support." He smiles bashful, but before he can regret it, Micah has the most understanding and proud smile on his face. 

"Sounds to me like you're in the perfect place. That's not oversharing, that's just honesty."

“What about yourself?”

“I’ve lived in the area for a long time, started coming to services when I was early in my transition. I’m 61 now, so about 25 years ago? Damn, I’m getting old.” His belly shakes a little as he laughs, “Been a member for 10, taking care of coffee hour and these volunteer days since then too. But the best part? I get to be a role model for the younger generation that passes through. I didn’t have that growing up. I feel just as lucky as they do, I bet.”

“Anji wasn’t lyin when she said you’re like the communal trans dad, huh.” He says with an air of awe and humor. 

“Oh yeah, there’s a whole pack of em that call me Pops. Happened as a joke in an OWL session once and it just kinda stuck.” He shakes his head, chuckling. “Anyways, I’d love to know if Castiel connects with any of the LGBTQ+ youth because we’re looking to set up some mentor workshops if they’re interested in that.”

“Could be worse right? With the nickname? They must really love you.”

“Oh, definitely. It’s one of my biggest joys to get to work with them in such a safe setting.”

“I sure didn’t have that growin’ up… Anyway, before we head out later I’ll have to introduce you to Cas.” He finishes loading the drying rack and looks out the window to where he sees Cas cutting open a pallet of soil, several children and teens sitting in front of window planters and trays of flowers.

“Fantastic. Looks like they’re keeping busy.” 

“I’m glad we came today. He is so friggin cute out there.” The tops of his ears burnare pink and he shakes his head, always a little dazed by Cas’s beauty and presence in the world. 

Micah gives Dean an encouraging clap to the shoulder.

“It was good to work with you, Dean. I think this roast is gonna turn out great, thanks to your help. I think we’re all set in here, I’m headed out to the yard to check in with Anji.”

“Right behind you.”

-

Cas kneels in front of a half-filled flower box and the large sack of dirt, several children of different ages also kneeling in the grass, circled around him. He’s talking, his hand disappearing into the dirt and scooping it into the planter by the handful, patting it down around the small flower starts. Carrying another heaping tray of purple and yellow flowers, Anji walks up behind Cas and sets them on the ground. 

“Alright, here’s the rest for you guys to use,” she says, wiping her hands together to break some of the dirt loose, “after that we’ll get the hose out, finish up with watering and then hang these back up under the windows.” She smiles wide. 

Cas gives her a thumbs up, and a chorus of all of them say  _ thank you Anji!  _ before she walks away, leaving Cas to lead. 

The day is relatively still, so Cas is thankful when a light breeze tussels their hair and brushes past their bare arms, flannel tied at their waist. They’re showing the small group of kids in front of them how to fill up the flower boxes with dirt to secure the young flowers so they are evenly spaced. 

“And then you pat it all down, so when it rains they’re not floating around in there. You all seem very good at this already, let’s get the rest of our little friends here potted.” 

The group watches them transfer the dirt and oh-so-carefully encourage the sprouts out of the plastic receptacles before moving in to repeat the process in the empty planters.

Earlier, after the not-so-good dreams, Cas was floating and disconnected. Looking in the mirror or even down at their own hands was unpleasant, made them want to itch the inside of their head. Taking a few minutes this morning to sit in the sun and get centered was a necessary step to make today happen. Dean always helps them come back too, but they’re so glad to have this as well. Half a knee sticking out into the grass through the gash in the denim, toes pressing into soles of shoes pushing into the earth, hands cradling each small bundle of roots. Cas is fully here, now. 

“Hey,” comes a shy voice from their right, “I really like your shirt.”

It’s Jude, who’s shuffled over and started to work on the same planter as Cas.

They look down as if they could have forgotten what shirt they put on this morning after Dean had so knowingly picked it out of the dresser for them.  _ You’re adorable when you wear this one, Cas.  _ It does happen to be one of their favorite shirts.

“Oh, thank you, Jude.” 

They take turns filling the planter with soil, scooping a hole for the flowers, then firmly patting down around the base before watering it thoroughly. Jude gets up periodically to line up all the finished ones before stepping back to stand with Cas. Erin and a few other kids are playing in the hose now, all the flower boxes filled, Anji moving them back to under the windows. 

“Fantastic job, everyone!” Cas calls out, a scattered  _ thanks Cas and Anji!  _ And  _ good job everyone!  _ Rings through those of the group still left, some having left early.

Jude is looking up at Cas, scuffing a shoe in the dirt, willing himself to say something but not wanting the activity to be over. 

“I think I have to go, my mom is waiting, but I wanted to give you something.” He pulls out a small stapled stack of papers and hands it to Cas. 

“It’s ‘Be Gay, Do Crime’, I don’t know if you’ve heard of it, but it’s a pretty important text. I think you and Dean might like it a lot. I had an extra copy, so, now it’s yours.” He smiles and shrugs.

Cas looks down at it a little confused, “I don’t know if I’ve heard of this.”

“Oh,” Jude says dumbfounded, like he hadn’t realized this would be new information to Cas, “it’s about —ah it’s about what it means to be queer and anarchistic, how we are here to continue our ancestors work, and that we shouldn’t compromise any parts of ourselves.” 

Cas looks at him, eyebrows raised, even more curious now.

“It’s a bit dense. Let me know what you think after you read it?”

They nod, “I will. Thank you for this, Jude.”

He nods and jogs off, waving as he joins the rest of his family on the sidewalk. 

Before long Dean has found them and together they’re saying goodbye to Anji, and Micah. 

“It was so good to meet you, Micah.” And Cas doesn’t stop him as he tugs them into a hug. “You too.” He stands back, then hugs Dean too. 

“Maybe next time you’ll join us in the kitchen?” 

Dean and Cas share a knowing look.

“I’ve been informed that I am a hazard when put in front of a stove, actually.” 

Dean laughs, head thrown back, “You don’t want to see what happened to those pancakes, trust me.” 

-

Sunday has turned into Cas’s favorite day of the week to drag Dean down the hall and into the giant washroom with the monstrous claw foot tub. This is something Cas can control: the act of relaxing in warmth, with Dean, and lots of bubbles. It’s quiet and safe, here they’re both comfortable in their skin. Maybe it's the foggy mirrors that allows the contact to feel less preying, less like the space is judging them. 

It doesn't matter what it's called, anything that allows him to be close to Dean and to worship his body is superlative. For Cas to be touched, to forget his gracelessness, is euphoric. For Dean, things that allow him to touch Cas without their discomfort, without thoughts that race too fast or turn muddy and sharp, is a victory. And any touch he receives from Cas feels like a blessing.

Cas is sore from hefting bags of soil and trays of flowers around the church lawn, and Dean is tired from standing in the kitchen, his shoulder and elbow joints irritated from the repetition of chopping. With achy muscles, Dean mops the washcloth from Cas's neck to their collarbone and down to the middle of their chest. Eyes closed Cas hums lowly, enjoying the sensation of the hot water and Dean’s careful, enamoring hands just tracing their form. 

"God's parting gift to man" Dean repeats, "that's what Jack said right before he went-"

he makes a gesture with both his hands, flicking his fingers,

" _ poof - _ back up to heaven. I know he was half-joking, but…  _ you’re  _ it _.  _ You are the gift. I'll keep sayin' it til the day I keel over." 

Cas doesn’t need to say that he knows, that he feels the same way about Dean, but speaks anyway. 

An easy, carefree smile warms the space between them further, “I wouldn’t be who I am without you. I wanted - this - for so long. I didn’t know I could have it at all, and be  _ human _ too. I’ve never been so happy, and I wouldn’t be without you.”

It’s hard to accept the fond and honest words, even from Cas, so he just nods and stays quiet, trying to let it soak in. He continues washing their shoulders and neck, a minute passes,  _ Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby  _ echoing muted against the tiles. 

“Ok, my turn,” Cas says as he dunks the washcloth in the bubbles, taking it from Dean’s hand.

Dean loves this too, for his body to be touched with such careful appraise, by Cas, but he struggles to admit it. They drag the washcloth over Dean’s back, the tops of his shoulders, down his back and up his thighs. Ardent and sensual, Cas talking lowly into his ear is sweeter than honey, hands moving all the while.

Touch - innocent in the car, secretive on the street, tumultuous, unwavering in their bed, serene and explorative in the tub - it’s healing. Not cause for, or of, corruption. And it’s never a burden, or a service, because when you love something or someone so much, it’s never about debt. 

The rest of their afternoon and night is lazy, heavy with smoke and wet kisses. Pulling on soft, worn pajama pants Cas faces Dean where he is sitting in bed. The green journal opens to a clean page, and Cas just notices, doesn't ask what he's writing. They snuggle up next to Dean, and he shows them the words. 

_ Reminder: I'm as much a part of you as you are a part of me.  _

They inch closer, nose just brushing against Dean’s before kissing him a  _ you’re wonderful.  _ They wrap a hand around the side of his neck, thumbing just below his ear. 

“I have something to write as well.” And Dean hands them the journal and pen. 

_ And I asked him _

_ The light of his presence holding my soul was the only source of light in the gelid, desolate Empty _

_ 'What is my purpose now?' _

_ And he smiled at me, the shining smile of God _

_ Our son, God _

_ 'To love, and be loved, for everything you are, and everything you are becoming' _


End file.
